Metropolitan Diary

Glued to my television set during much of last weekend's storm, I found myself once again absolutely awed by the spirit, stamina and determination of people in this city. But my candidate for the title of Quintessential New Yorker -- no, make that All-Time Quintessential New Yorker -- is easily the woman from Brooklyn who was asked on the news how it all was affecting her.

"Do you have electricity?" she was asked by the TV reporter.

"Yes, we do," she said.

"And do you have gas?"

"No, we have no gas," the woman said sadly. "We have no gas at all."

"So you can't do any cooking," the interviewer sympathized. "What do you do for meals?"

"We sent out for Chinese," the woman said. . . .

Dear Diary:

Sophie, our 3-year-old, has only the vaguest idea of who Santa Claus might be. But that didn't stop our baby sitter from taking Sophie to Bloomingdale's for an introductory visit to its version of St. Nick.

Shopping for toys in Herald Square this far into the holiday season is at best a harrowing experience. So I was slightly less than thrilled to be waited on by one of the most inept cashiers in all of Herald Square history.

She could not understand the concept of wanting to ship one, and only one, of several packages, so I had to tie it up myself. She was unable to locate her scissors, leaving me with a long piece of string trailing off the side of the box. She charged me for an item I had not bought. Finally, when it was discovered that she had neglected to give the promised 20-per-cent discount on one of the toys, she called her superior in desperation.

"What seems to be the problem?" he asked.

The cashier explained the situation, saying that she could see no other solution than ringing everything up again.

Seeing my impatience, he looked her in the eyes and commanded, "Put out your hand."

Dolefully, she obeyed, palm down.

"Bad!" he proclaimed, slapping it lightly. With that, he returned to his post. -- MICHELLE AU . . .

Dear Diary:

The place is a Lexington Avenue subway; time, the other evening. At 14th Street, a young blond woman hops aboard. A seated woman, recognizing her, speaks excitedly.

Seated woman: I know you! Where are you from?

Me, thinking: Sweden? Denmark? Scotland?

Blond woman: "Days of Our Lives." -- CHANA FREIMAN . . .

Notes from nostalgic friends:

It could simply be a coincidence, although it would be nice to believe it's more than that. An expression seldom heard in the last 20 or 30 years has recently been popping into numerous conversations, bringing with it memories of growing up. The expression is "When my ship comes in."

Irene Ashery of Great Neck, L.I., thought of the expression recently when the mailman handed her an abundance of holiday mail.

"I spent my childhood in Brooklyn," she said, "and when I was about 9 years old, I asked my father why there was so much mail for him and none for me. 'If you want your ship to come in, first you have to send it out,' he told me."

Lilly S. Ruttenberg of Clifton, N.J., heard the expression not long ago from friends she hadn't seen in years.

It also sailed back a month or so ago in "Kid Millions," a 1934 musical starring Eddie Cantor, which was shown on the American Movie Classics cable channel. The score, by Harold Adamson and Burton Lane, included a catchy ditty titled -- you guessed it. It was a song to be sung during a depression or recession. It was an assurance that better times were on the way. Maybe that's the reason for its revival.